Spinning to the Xtreme
by ShimmeringStar214
Summary: Sam Carter tries to keep Martin Lloyd from spinning his next Wormhole Xtreme series off into the far side of the galaxy. Set immediately after Sam returns from Atlantis. General. Humor.


Colonel Samantha Carter scanned the perimeter of the rooftop upon which she'd recently joined Martin Lloyd, an alien who was living incognito on Earth. Martin had insisted she meet up with him at this hotel's poolside cafe the very moment she arrived in L.A., and Sam had complied, being under direct orders from General Jack O'Neill to report here immediately upon her return from Atlantis.

Sam eyed the scantily-clad women splashing and squealing nearby in the pool's shallow end. Several had unsuccessfully tried to attract Martin's attention after he'd stacked a pile of scripts on the table in front of them, but he appeared oblivious to them; whether he was ignoring them because he wasn't interested in "alien" women or because he was involved with someone else, she wasn't sure.

Another arc of water splashed near Sam's feet and she discretely pushed her chair further back, on guard for another water volley from the nearly-naked women. Martin didn't even notice that his one pant leg was wet as he continued his running narrative regarding yet another plot idea. _Jack'd better understand an assignment to Silicone City isn't my idea of fun_, she thought, as Martin stopped abruptly to thumb through a text message on his cell phone.

She'd lost count how many times he'd done that in the ten minutes she'd been there since he'd managed to outline twenty different story arcs for "Wormhole Xtreme," the science fiction television show that he'd written and developed based on memories he'd retained of the top-secret Stargate program and SG-1, in-between calls and texts. Several of the arcs he mentioned were story ideas that Jack had instructed her to "plant" with Martin which surprised Sam. The critics and the Air Force hierarchy had been surprised, too, that the show had become one of the most popular science fiction series of recent times, most notably for its tongue in cheek humor combined with its realistic portrayals of soldiers.

Sam frowned internally. She wouldn't know about that; Teal'c was the only member of SG-1 that regularly watched the series and he'd admitted to being more concerned with the fight sequences and explosions than anything else.

Martin suddenly lifted his head up and peered over his glasses at Sam, raising his brows high. "So what if Colonel Stacy Monroe married Danning, who's now a General?"

"Martin!" Sam admonished him.

Martin shook his head emphatically. "Seriously. It totally solves those chain of command issues. You know the fans," Martin said, whispering and looking from side to side at the others sitting around them, "they want resolution. We could give them that."

Sam shook her head.

"Dream sequence?"

"Martin…!" Sam said, allowing a hint of frustration into her voice.

Martin frowned. "I see you'll be no fun as our newest Air Force consultant. At least O'Neill smiled more when he was here." He turned to watch the young women frolicking in the pool for a moment, and then his gaze slowly drifted away.

Sam wasn't so sure she liked that faraway look.

"What about Monroe and New Guy then?" Martin mused. "No age difference there."

"Martin!"

Martin had a wistful look on his face as he watched a jet disappear into the molten gold of the western sky. "Mad, passionate, forbidden love – it'd be a ratings coup." He turned back to Sam. "Worth at least two Nielsen points."

Sam looked at him blankly.

"Two million viewers. Not too shabby for the network we're on," he explained.

Sam stared at him with her mouth open. She was supposed to deal with this? He was going to make a complete mockery of the Air Force, for all that he'd already done. And even of that she wasn't sure; she'd only caught bits and pieces of episodes over the years when Cassandra had forced her to watch it. Sam preferred the original Star Trek series of her childhood to Martin's skewed vision of the SGC.

"No? Okay, well, how about hot sex – within MAPRA limits of course – with the alien warrior? Now that – that's sure to intrigue WE fans."

"No!" Sam couldn't keep the disgust from her voice. "And why Wii fans?"

"Wormhole Extreme. WE fans."

Sam continued to stare at him. Cassandra was a fan of the show and she was always surfing the Internet for the latest news about it, and she was the main reason Sam had agreed to take the assignment in the first place. Cassandra had told her they called themselves the X-Fans on-line; another point of contention between the fans and powers that be like Martin.

Sam eyed Martin. His bald spot had grown as had his girth, and he was as pale as the day they'd first met. His flashy suit was just that – a flash in the fashion spotlight from a few years back. He certainly didn't look like a power that was to her.

"So why does Colonel Monroe need to be involved with a man anyway?" Sam asked.

Martin scoffed at her. "Simple, my dear – ratings. Advertising. Residuals. Licensing. Money."

Sam cocked a brow up. "Wait a minute – I thought this spin-off had an all-new cast."

"It does," Martin agreed, nodding as he sipped on the glass of wine he'd ordered before she'd arrived. "We're just repackaging the old stories. Monroe, New Guy, Danning – they're only guest spots for sweeps weeks. Ratings grabbers. Works every time."

Sam fought hard to keep her facial expression neutral. What about creativity? The acting craft? Sharing new stories? She remembered that last thing was Cassandra's second loudest complaint, right after Stacy Monroe's stereotypical storylines - that the fans still loved the original cast and wanted more episodes showing their further adventures.

Sam gripped the rim of her hat in her lap and shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

Martin looked at her in surprise. "Oh, Colonel Carter, I'm so sorry!" he said, waving his drink in the air to catch the waiter's attention. "You must be burning up in those clothes. Have a little drink," he said as the waiter approached.

Sam shook her head. "It's been a long day, Mr. Lloyd and I should really be turning in," she said, her tone formal and firm. She shook her head at the waiter who had stopped next to Martin.

Martin squinched one eye into a grimace. "You're going to sleep? It's not even dinner time!" He looked closely at her. "I thought you said you flew in, Colonel."

Sam turned away from Martin who was blocking only a portion of the glare from the blazing late afternoon sun and she caught sight again of the buxom bikini babes. They'd given up on Martin and were now vying for the attention of a young actor who'd taken a seat in one of the reclining chairs at the far end of the pool whose name she couldn't remember and that Cassandra would give her heck for not getting his autograph. Sam had actually beamed in, but she wasn't about to tell Martin that – he'd grab the idea of beaming tech for his next "big ratings grabber" and Jack hadn't authorized her to share that particular idea yet.

All she wanted to do now was to change her clothes and go for a nice run on the beach that was a few blocks away. Maybe even sit out on the warm sand and just read until sunset. Something fun; something not here.

She faked a yawn. "Hard day at the office before I left," she said, blinking her eyes to feign sleep. "Need a nap."

Martin shook his head. "That'd never win you an Academy Award, Colonel," he said. "But I understand all this must be culture shock compared to the military. See you first thing in the morning then."

Sam snapped to attention. "What time? Where at?"

Martin shrugged. "The studio's sending a driver and we've assigned you a personal assistant. They'll know all the details." He slid a business card over to her. "She's been assigned to you. Very nice young woman. Actress, actually." He wrinkled his nose. "Not very photogenic, however."

Sam took the card and stood up, placing her hat back securely on her head. "Mr. Lloyd," she said, giving him a respectful nod.

Martin didn't look up from the text message he was composing. "Colonel."

Sam shook her head imperceptibly and strode back inside the hotel, headed for the concierge desk.

----------------------

Amanda, the young woman assigned to be her personal assistant while she was on set, met her at the studio entrance the next day. Sam wondered why Martin had been so critical of the young woman; a slim, stereotypical California beach blonde, she looked very photogenic to Sam.

And then she opened her mouth.

"Please call me Amanda," the young woman squeaked in a high-pitched Minnie Mouse voice.

Sam had to bite her tongue and fake a coughing fit to keep from laughing out loud. So that was Martin's issue?

Amanda escorted Sam around the set before filming began, introducing her first to the lead actors who were still in make-up. Sam was a bit awed to meet Yolanda Reese, the actress who played Stacy Monroe, the only Wormhole Xtreme actor that Cassandra absolutely gushed over. Sam only remembered after they'd exited the make-up trailer that she'd meant to ask for Yolanda's autograph for Cassandra. She'd just have to do that later.

By the time she learned the difference between the craft service and the catering service, Sam had already made a meal of the chips, dips, and veggies that craft had offered. Amanda had apologized for leaving her to wander alone for a few hours on her first day on set, but as Amanda squeaked with glee, "I'm up for a walk-on role as New Guy's love interest."

"Really?" Sam asked. "Speaking or non-speaking?"

Amanda tilted her head to the side and blinked. "I forgot to ask. Why?"

Sam bit back her observation about the type of sultry voice that a love interest typically might have. "Oh, I just thought you had to have a speaking role before you could get your SAG card," Sam said, shrugging nonchalantly.

Amanda waved a hand at Sam. "Honey, I've had my SAG card since I was five years old."

_Was that as a Mouseketeer?_ Sam wondered, biting her lip, and she followed Amanda to the director's chair that had been labeled "Col. S. Carter, USAF."

Sam sat quietly in the chair as the movement on set ebbed and flowed around her, slowly sipping on her bottle of water and nibbling on the edge of a donut that Teal'c would have drooled all over. Trying hard to take it all in and fit the puzzle pieces of production together, she didn't see Martin approach.

"So, Colonel Carter, what do you think?" Martin asked, standing in front of her and beaming with pride.

"Sam, please," Sam said. She nodded at the busy crew surrounding them. "Works like a good field team. They seem like family. Very friendly."

"Yeah, I guess," Martin said, shrugging. "What I meant was what do you think about the story? Great, huh?"

Sam figured she'd seen one scene replayed about twenty times in the past three hours; not really enough to tell what kind of story Martin was trying to tell. But since he was asking for feedback….

"Well, I do think that the science seems a bit unrealistic at times," she started to explain, "and then there's the matter of Monroe and how she's portrayed as a-"

"Colonel! Sam baby! It's just episodic television. Lighten up!"

Martin was scoffing at her again and Sam didn't like it. "Actually, I think I do prefer you call me Colonel, thank you very much, Mr. Lloyd," Sam responded. She leaned back in her chair, careful not to get the doughnut on her dress blues. "I am a bit concerned about how you're portraying the integrity of members of the Air Force."

Martin pulled a chair marked "New Guy" up next to hers. "Really? What's wrong with it? Opinion polls show the general public views WE strictly as entertainment."

"I beg to differ, Mr. Lloyd."

"Martin."

"Martin, then. Wormhole Xtreme over the years has inspired many young men and women to join the Air Force as well as other branches of the Armed Services. It's had an amazing impact. And I believe you understand your responsibility to…keep it real. Or you wouldn't bother having me here," Sam explained.

Martin perked up. "You have hard numbers on that? Our PR department will have a field day with it!"

Sam squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, allowing a small, internal "_Argh!_" to fill her head. "No!" she said, more harshly than she meant it to be.

"Darn," Martin said, hopping off his chair and waving at a dark-haired man who'd just finished patting the back of the stunt coordinator. "Darren! Darren! Come meet Colonel Carter!"

Martin turned back to Sam. "This is Darren Hood – the show's director. He's the Man," Martin said smugly. "No one else has ever been able to capture my conceptual vision the way he has."

Darren grinned at Sam, extending a hand out to her. "Darren Hood, and you are…?"

Sam got out of her chair and stood at attention. "Colonel Samantha Carter, U.S. Air Force, on loan to the studio," she responded crisply, shaking his hand firmly.

"Wow," Darren said, standing back to give Sam the once-over without loosening his grip on her hand. "You could be Amanda's mother or something. Well, except for her voice. Now you – you've got a great voice. Ever think about acting?" he asked, leaning in close to her.

Sam looked down and smiled. "No, I'm doing what I love, but thanks for the offer."

Martin peered at her. "You actually like all that science stuff?"

"Well, yeah…"

"Oh, well, I guess it takes all kinds," Martin said. He looked at the script and the filming schedule in his hand. "Oh, the big fight scene's next."

----------------------

After a few days, the "shiny" as Cassandra called it, was wearing off for Sam, not that Cassandra minded getting detailed reports from Sam every evening about her favorite actors and their behind-the-scenes shenanigans. But now it wasn't so shiny, and Sam was missing the SGC. She was missing doing something other than sitting in the stiff director's chair watching what would become a two-minute segment be filmed thirty times over during the course of a day.

She just wasn't made for TV work, she guessed. Sam was putting away the laptop she'd finally decided to bring with her to the set today when Martin appeared at her side.

"Leaving for the day?" Martin asked.

Sam nodded. Oh-five-hundred each day had been the agreement.

"Dinner?" he asked.

Sam thought about it. A real dinner, hot and tasty, would hit the spot after a week of salads from the hotel's salad bar. "Sure," she said, hiking her computer case strap over her shoulder and following Martin.

Sam turned to go out the set entrance, and then noticed that Martin had not turned with her. He'd continued down to where she knew catering was set up. He stopped and waved her over.

She debated whether or not to comply. _Come on, a real dinner, Martin. Away from here_, she thought, frowning.

Martin gave her a weak smile and shrugged his shoulders.

_Oh, all right_, Sam thought, resigned to the fact that real food wouldn't be on tonight's menu, and she slowly trudged toward him.

Afterwards she admitted to Martin that the catering service dinner had indeed been finer than anything she thought they could have had at a fancy restaurant.

Martin looked at the occupants of the table closest to the catering truck. "It's the suits."

Sam looked at them and him, uncomprehending.

"Studio big-wigs," Martin explained. "Whenever they deign to come down onto the set, catering gets cranked up a couple notches."

"Oh," Sam answered. Either way, she'd had her first real dinner in a week and she'd enjoyed it. She leaned back and sipped on the pomegranate lemonade that had been served with their meal, watching as Martin dug into the creamy fudge cake that she'd decided to pass on.

Martin's eyes rolled back in his head and he looked like he was about to pass out.

Sam set her drink quickly down. "Are you okay, Martin?"

Martin opened his eyes wide and leaned far forward. "This," he said stabbing the cake with his fork, "this is absolutely to die for!"

Sam relaxed, shrugging in response, and took another sip of the lemonade. She'd take his word for it.

"You heard the latest?" Martin asked, his mouth full of creamy chocolate frosting. He shut his eyes again, looking like he was fast approaching nirvana.

"No, what?" Sam asked, politely dabbing at the lemonade on her upper lip.

"They've changed the series name again."

"Really?" Sam asked. Every day the script came down with new lines, new episode titles, and even new series names, enough daily change that she'd learned to just ignore most of it.

"Wormhole Xtreme: The Next Generation," Martin said dramatically.

"Hey – isn't that a rip-off of Star Trek?" Sam asked.

Martin shook his head, savoring another bite of cake. "Legal Department already cleared it."

Sam mentally added that to the rumors she'd heard about a big casting change coming, and her head began to hurt with the entendres and double-entendres of set life. At that moment she decided she was going to kill Jack next time she saw him, General at Homeland Security or not. She was this close to walking off the set and heading back to Colorado Springs for some quality time puttering around her cottage before Jack could make another job assignment like this one.

"You feeling okay?" Martin asked, mid-bite.

Sam shook her head. "Headache," she answered.

"Sorry to hear that," Martin said. "I'd have Amanda call the driver for you, but she's filming the love scene with New Guy this evening."

That made Sam's head hurt all the more. "She got the part?" she asked, wincing.

Martin nodded. "Non-speaking. No grunting or moaning allowed either."

_Too much information_, Sam thought, and she took her leave of Martin.

----------------------

By the end of the second week, Sam was thoroughly engrossed in her laptop for most of her hours on the set. Darren the Director still came over to speak to her under the guise of seeing "if things were Air Force kosher" as he put it, but Sam couldn't shake the impression that he was doing it only to compare her to Amanda and to find a way that he could have Sam film Amanda's part in the love scene that he claimed would be the climax of the two-parter spin-off introduction. As handsome as Darren was, Sam felt slightly squicked to think he only cared about wanting to hear her grunt and moan.

Sam had her head completely wrapped around a theoretical astrophysics theorem that she was trying to put in high school-level language for the textbook she was writing when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She hit the function key that brought up the animated screensaver of her and the guys goofing around at Cassandra's high school graduation party.

She turned her head to find the tapper was Yolanda Reese, in full Stacy Monroe garb. "Nice-looking guys," Yolanda commented appreciatively. "Boyfriends any?"

"No, just good friends," Sam answered, smiling and suddenly remembering she'd yet to get Yolanda's autograph for Cassandra.

"You're Colonel Carter, aren't you?" Yolanda asked.

Sam nodded. She'd not had the chance to get this close to the actress since first greeting her in the make-up trailer two weeks ago. Even under the heavy make-up, Yolanda looked virtually unchanged since the first time Sam had seen her when Jack had been the Air Force consultant years ago.

Sam smoothed her dress jacket down. "Yes, I am," she said, both proud and slightly embarrassed at the same time. Perhaps Yolanda was familiar with her from when she'd been interviewed on TV?

The actress came closer and raised a brow. "Wow, Amanda was right – they must really be hard on you in the Air Force." Yolanda reached out a finger to softly touch Sam's cheek. "Honey, I could recommend an excellent plastic surgeon here in L.A. for those crow's feet, if you're interested."

Sam pushed back and away, nearly knocking her laptop off her lap. What the heck?

Yolanda leaned back, hands up in the air. "At ease, soldier," Yolanda quipped, laughing and sauntering away to give Darren a hug and kiss. She winked at Sam before taking her mark on the briefing room set.

Sam seethed, wondering again what she was doing there. There were so many better things she could be doing other than sitting here doing nothing. She got out her phone and dialed Jack's direct number, even though there was a ban on cell phone usage on set during filming.

"General O'Neill!"

"Carter! How's it going in sunny So Cal?"

"Jack!"

"Excuse me?"

"Jack…!"

"Feeling a bit overly-familiar with our superior officer, are we?"

"Jack - I quit!" Sam hissed into the phone.

"You can't quit," he chuckled. "I ordered you there."

"You wanna bet?" Sam said, glowering.

"Come on – it can't be all that bad," Jack chided her. "The studio used to have Martin's bunch out at an old ranch somewhere in the middle of nowhere when I did it. At least they're at the studio full-time now."

"So?" Sam whispered loudly, glaring back at the grips who'd turned to see who was talking. "I'm ready to walk right now," she threatened.

Jack laughed, further angering Sam. "But look how long you've lasted, Carter."

"Sir?"

"Carter, I barely made it five days with them."

"Five days?"

"Yep. If you add together all the times I was actually on set." He laughed again and then adopted a more serious tone. "Which flight are you going out on so I can get your replacement out there in time?"

"Beamed in," Sam said as low as she could and still be heard by Jack. "Same out."

Jack laughed again. "Smart Sam. Okay, I'll take care of it. Now get your bottom back to base."

"Yes, Sir!" Sam nearly leapt out of the chair in her rush to pack up her things.

----------------------

Half a year later, Sam settled down to watch TV with Cassandra who was home for the weekend. Too lazy to reach for the schedule in the newspaper, Sam lazily flipped the remote up through the cable television channels.

"NuSci," Cassandra said. "Channel fifty-four."

"Huh?" Sam asked.

"NuSci - it's what they're calling the old Science Fiction Entertainment Channel."

"Oh."

"You know tonight's Wormhole Xtreme episode is the one they were filming when you were out there," Cassandra said.

"Really?"

"Yep," Cassandra answered, smiling as she dug her hand deep into the popcorn bowl. "Should be interesting to see what really happens."

"What do you mean?"

"There've been rumors on-line," Cassandra explained, smiling.

"About what?" Sam asked.

Cassandra shook her head. "I'm not going to say anything else – you'll just have to see for yourself."

Sam frowned and clicked up the volume as the show started. She'd dropped enough Jack-approved tech and science hints that Martin should have been able to write some excellent stories for his show. It would be interesting to see which ones he'd used.

By the third act Sam was pelting the TV set with popcorn. Martin had faked her out – Amanda's scene had been cut out and there was Monroe and New Guy, getting it on in the storage closet. The rest of the team took over the ship's controls and picked up Frall, the last remaining of the Golden Ones, the gold-skinned bad guys.

"That's so WRONG!" Sam yelled at the screen, lobbing a few more kernels at it.

Cassandra laughed.

"Was that the rumor you were talking about?" Sam asked.

Cassandra shook her head and pointed at the television.

The new cast Sam had met was stuck in limbo, trying to fix their ship's broken warp drive, so the original Xtreme team had taken the lead. Sam watched, mouth agape, as a ship full of Andmee, the pale-white and poorly-written new enemy that had replaced the GoldenOnes in the tenth season, gained ground on the original team. Suddenly a beam of purple light enveloped the original team's ship and the actors made a spectacular show of dying, including Monroe and New Guy who still hadn't made it out of the closet yet.

Sam's eyes bugged out of her head as the show broke for a commerical. "NO! Martin did not just kill us in a blaze of glory."

"You mean killed THEM, Sam," Cassandra observed, an amused look on her face. She stood up and started picking the kernels up off the floor. "Yep. He sure did. Now The Next Generation rides in to save the day."

"Ugh," Sam said, clicking the remote off. "I hope he gets cancelled."

"Rumor has that, too."

"Really?" Sam said, a smile slowly spreading across her face. Well, at least the Air Force wouldn't have to waste their fine young women and men's time to consult for that show any more.

At least, that was, until the next straight-to-DVD movie started filming....


End file.
